


The Archive Becomes

by Stormont



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archive!Jon, Body Horror, Spoilers for MAG 160
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23126773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormont/pseuds/Stormont
Summary: Elias Bouchard knows what has to happen to the Archivist now. Knows all the marks that must be made on Jonathan Sims’s body, by all the things that crawl and choke and blind and fall and twist and leave and hide and weave and burn and hunt and rip and bleed and die, so that the world can be destroyed and gloriously remade in the all-knowing, all-seeing image of the Ceaseless Watcher. And for that, he needs something more than an Archivist, something more inhuman than Gertrude Robinson ever was. For that, he needs something that can Know and See and file away everything it lays its Eyes on, that can wait, and wait, and drink in all that is not its by right. For that, Elias needs… an Archive.An au where Jonathan Sims becomes inhuman way sooner than in canon.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

Elias Bouchard does not regret selecting Gertrude Robinson for the Archivist position. Certainly, looking back at that time, he Sees that there was no one who would have been better for the position who also worked in the Institute. He remembers giving her the promotion like it was yesterday, as all his memories are as clear and unblemished as when they were first formed, even though it was a different name then, and a different body that gestured for her to sit down in the steel-backed chair opposite his. She did not even have a hint of the coldness that now chills her watchful gaze; she was just an average twenty-something, with not a scratch on her, barely even suspicious about her new position, even though surely there was someone more qualified than her, who was just a lowly researcher. He almost smiles when he remembers her long-gone naivety.

As Elias walks purposefully towards his Archivist, gun held loosely but confidently in his hand, he thinks about all the monsters she has stopped. All the rituals she has torn apart. All the people she has sacrificed, for the greater good. ‘For the greater good.’ That phrase is something she repeated to herself at first, he Knows, back when she had enough emotions to feel bad about the humans she led into the waiting maws of the Entities. Before she discarded guilt like a worn overcoat, something that will only make her swelter in the roiling flames of all the terrible things she has done for the greater good. 

It’s funny, really, he thinks. She had been so damn stubborn in retaining her physical humanity, in not taking live statements, not making the choice that would truly bind her soul to her, to their god, but along the course of her life she has discarded so much of her humanity in other ways. Guilt was just the first, her emotions hardening until she cared about no one and nothing. She did not even shed a tear when the only person left who you could have called even remotely close to her, Adelard Dekker, finally died in his fruitless search for the Extinction. She never truly lost fear, but managed to let it shrivel and weaken, becoming ever smaller and insignificant. Gertrude’s mind is fully closed off from Elias now, but he doubts if she feels anything that you could really call happiness anymore. No, the closest she gets is the satisfaction once she has stopped a Ritual, that feeling all she has left besides a smattering of worry and a grim determination.

You probably couldn’t call Gertrude Robinson a monster, certainly not in the way Elias is, or any of the other avatars that stalk London’s ancient streets. But… you might not be able to call her human, either.

He reaches her, and it is easy. She never had any real chance of carrying out her grand retirement plan, not while doing it under the watchful gaze of the Eye. In the end, no plans are secret in the Institute; no matter how long you manage to hide them, their reveal is inevitable. The Ceaseless Watcher exposes all secrets eventually, bright and clear for all eyes to see, and the Archivist’s coming betrayal was so easy to See, even if Elias didn’t know the exact details. It was just a matter of keeping his watching Eyes on Gertrude, until she finally put her plan into motion. If he was to be honest, he thinks it was a bit crude, the whole gasoline thing and blowing up the Institute. Although, he supposes, his method of shooting her three times and then dragging her into a room in the tunnels was hardly the most elegant either. But it works, and it is easy.

Once Elias has finished making sure the late Archivist’s desk is absolutely covered in her blood, he lets himself relax for a moment, and sighs. He had forgotten what a hassle murder really was; it had, after all, been quite some time since he had last been forced to get his hands dirty. He calls the police with a self-satisfied smirk on his face and a faked note of fear and worry in his voice. After he tells his story about finding the blood-covered desk when he came down to the Archives, they reassure him that they will send some officers right away. Of course, it takes them about an hour and a half to actually do so. Elias knows he can’t really blame them: non-Sectioned officers won’t touch the Magnus Institute with a ten-foot barge pole, and rounding up enough Sectioned officers is often difficult. It’s actually rather convenient for him, as it gives him enough time to change into clothes that are not covered in blood and scrub all evidence of violence from his skin. He will have to get rid of the gloves he was wearing, which is too bad really: they were his favourite pair.

The police that meet him by the front entrance are surly and disinterested. Elias Knows that they will not put much effort into solving this case unless a lead too obvious to pass up lands in their lap, which he is certain will not happen. British police do not care much for solving cases with direct ties to the supernatural; they would much rather sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. Elias Knows how good humans are at pretending they didn’t see anything: the Archives are full of Statements where someone ignored all the signs that something very dangerous was happening and then got a very nasty shock when everything became too much to ignore. He always enjoys that part: when the blindfold is pulled from the writer’s eyes, the monster is revealed, and the unfortunate narrator is shoved, stumbling, into a world where terrible, inhuman things wander the earth and the awful knowledge of that fact can never be scrubbed from their mind.

They do not, and will not, and will never suspect Elias of having anything to do with the blood staining Gertrude Robinson’s desk. They see his bland smile and his boring, immaculate suit and they see a man who has likely never even felt the cold metal of a gun, much less pressed it to the chest of a living person and made them not-living. They see, but they do not look beyond, do not really See. Elias Sees them though, and laughs inwardly about just how much knowledge escapes them. He leads them to Gertrude’s office, and then quietly excuses himself, pretending to blanch at the sight of so much blood. 

Once he is back in his office, he thinks about his next moves. He had been thinking about potential replacements for Gertrude for quite some time, even before her betrayal became evident. The person he had finally decided on was named Jonathan Sims, one of the researchers, just like Gertrude had been. Elias supposes it makes sense that researchers make good Archivists: their literal job to find things out, to research and uncover knowledge, to see and to know. And Sims does all that gladly, for rooted inside of him is a deep desire to find out more about the supernatural, and especially the Leitner that haunts his nightmares. The desire has only been heightened by his work at the Institute, and Elias has no doubt that he will continue his endless search for knowledge, even if that search leads him to a fate as bad as or worse than that of the bully that died instead of him all those years ago, when Sims unwillingly read A Guest For Mr Spider. The fact he is already marked by the Web does not hurt either.

However, Elias decides to wait until at least two months have passed before officially giving Sims the position. The sheer amount of blood he left on Gertrude’s desk will make it quite clear to the police that she is almost definitely dead, but it would perhaps be suspicious if he immediately gave someone else the Archivist position when the former Archivist disappeared. 

‘Jonathan Sims.’ he says out loud, feeling the way the name tastes on his tongue. It is the name of the man who, right at this moment, is deep among the stacks of books that make up the Institute’s library. He is researching a recently made Statement, written by a woman who had a deeply disturbing encounter with the Flesh. He should probably move into the light, to see the book he is reading from more clearly, but he does not, engrossed as he is in his work. Even now, he continues his quest for knowledge. His name is a good enough one, for a person who is more than good enough for the role Elias will give him, but a name nonetheless that he will eventually discard, taking his proper title: Archivist. 

But… Elias knows what has to happen now. Knows what must happen to his soon-to-be Archivist. Knows the marks that must be made on Jonathan Sims’s body, by all the things that crawl and choke and blind and fall and twist and leave and hide and weave and burn and hunt and rip and bleed and die, so that the world can be destroyed and gloriously remade in the all-knowing, all-seeing image of the Ceaseless Watcher. And for that, he needs something more than an Archivist, something more inhuman than Gertrude ever was. For that, he needs something that can Know and See and file away everything it lays its Eyes on, that can wait, and wait, and drink in all that is not its by right. For that, Elias needs… an Archive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Sims becomes the Archive.

Jonathan Sims is tired.

Tired of filing, tired of Statements, and tired, period. His limbs feel like iron pipes he’s struggling to hold up and keep from falling to the ground, useless. His eyelids are so, so heavy, and it’s all he can do to not slump down on his desk and fall asleep. But he can’t, and he doesn’t want to. After all, this is certainly not the first time he’s stayed overnight at the Institute; he’s lost count of the times he ended up collapsing in the cot in the break room while he was still a researcher. But now, in the Archives, there is even more work that has to be done. As he has said many times, Gertrude Robinson might qualify for the worst Archivist the Institute has ever had. What with the frankly abhorrent state she had left the Archives in, he’s surprised Elias didn’t fire the old woman years before she died.

At least he’s not doing it alone. Tim has been useful in researching old Statements, Sasha has been very helpful in trying to restructure all the files into an system that actually makes sense and Martin… well, Martin at least makes good tea, even if he seems to be completely incompetent at everything else he tries to do. All three of Jon’s Assistants left a couple of hours ago, leaving Jon alone in the Archives. The rest of the Institute is gone as well, travelling back to their homes, scattered across London. The only people left are him and the Head of the Institute, Elias Bouchard. Jon does not question how he knows that when he has not left the Archives since he arrived here at eight thirty this morning, nor has anyone told him that fact. He also does not question exactly why Elias is still here.

He looks over his files on Statement #0122204, the one made by Nathan Watts, regarding the Angler Fish. The Statement was… weird. It simply refused to record digitally, even though there appeared to be absolutely no reason why every attempt came out warped and unusable. He was still slightly annoyed that he had to resort to using a tape recorder, of all things, to record the Statement. And, when he was reading it out, he felt like… like he was being watched. When he looked, of course there was nothing there, just him and the empty room, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of how strongly he had felt those unseen eyes, their gaze burning into the back of his neck.

He’s probably just being paranoid. There is almost definitely zero truth to Mr Watts’s Statement anyway. After all, it was written by a man who freely admitted to being both completely without another witness to the event and also severely drunk at the time. There is no reason to believe the so-called ‘Angler Fish’ was anything but an alcohol-induced hallucination.

Jon sighs heavily and gets up to grab another file. His fingers brush the folder – and then he freezes. Because to the left of his desk, there is something that should not be. Slowly, he puts his hand down from the folder. His eyes widen slightly when he sees it. The wall has changed. It had definitely not been made out of stone brick when he had come in this morning, instead made out of regular, ordinary wood. And more than that, there appears to be… a depression in the wall, where the roughly hewn stone has somehow sunken in, leaving a hollow space where it should be smooth and unblemished. He takes a few steps towards it tentatively. The hole doesn’t seem like it’s been carved into the wall; as a matter of fact, it seems almost natural. Like the hole had just always been there, since the Archives were first built. But Jon knows that can’t be true. 

He presses his slender fingers to the distorted stone, almost expecting it to be soft and malleable, but is the exact same smooth, unmoving material it should be. Taking a step back, Jon suddenly realises that the hole is in the shape of a human body. In fact, he’s not sure how he didn’t notice that before, as obvious as it is to him now. Looking closer, he can see that the space where someone’s head would surely go has been warped so as to make space for their nose, so that they would slot in perfectly. Jon wonders if something would happen if he tried to fit into the strange hole-

No. No, he should probably leave it for now, wait until his Assistants are back in the morning. Better to get a second pair of eyes to confirm that this whole thing isn’t some hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation, or something. If he’s not just going crazy, then he could use the help in investigating what exactly is going on. Also, Elias should probably be told as well.

Flicking his eyes to the aforementioned hole again, he is struck by how clearly he can see it. The room is only lit by the dull glow of his lamp, and the nooks and crannies of the room are mostly hidden in darkness, but he can see the inside of the hole with crystal clarity, as if someone were shining the world’s brightest spotlight on it. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to try and see if I could fit? he thinks, moving back to his desk, not noticing his hands rising up, not seeing them slide his glasses off and place them on his desk in precise, rigid movements. He does not pay any attention to the fact he can still see perfectly despite the fact he is usually blind as a bat without them.

He crosses the room again in only a couple of steps but stops in front of the hole. Should he go inside? To be fairly honest, this whole thing seems like a big red flag, like if he does he’ll just end up as another Statement, a supernatural story with nothing to prove that it’s true. But… he has to know what will happen, because he is certain that something will happen, a certainty that he cannot explain but does not question. Even if the hole kills him, he wants to know, has to know, needs to know, and the need is like a hunger so strong and desperate and aching that it’s barely even a choice about what Jon does next.

He places the back of his right hand in the place he knows (Knows) it should go, and his hand fits perfectly into the smooth, cold stone. The rest of his body fits just as perfectly as his hand when he slides himself fully in, letting the cold embrace of the Institute fold over him. He is barely even surprised. He knows that this hole was made for him, that it needs to feel him and know him just as surely and completely as he needs to know it.

What does surprise him is when the wall moves, yanking his left hand in, burying it in itself. Jon jolts back, but the wall is already sliding over him. He does not even have time to scream before he is dragged fully into it. 

And then the Institute pulls him apart.  
–  
Elias chuckles to himself as he Watches his Archivist walk towards the wall. There was no chance of the unfortunate man escaping the trap laid out for him, as when it comes down to it, an Archivist’s curiosity will overpower all things, even self-preservation. Elias doesn’t really need to have stayed in the Archives so late, but he does have to all the same: his role, after all, is to Watch, and to turn his gaze away from such an important stage in his plan would doom him to the same fate as all of Beholding’s victims. 

While he Knows that Jon has been heavily frustrated with the current state of the Archives, Elias is actually rather impressed with the amount of work Jon’s managed to do in just his first week alone. Gertrude did become so good at hiding things from him at the end, and making sure the Archives was in a real mess was just a small part of that. As Jon and the Assistants Elias so carefully picked out for him tackle the gargantuan task of organising the chaos, the Watcher’s gaze grows heavy once again over the Archives. Jon has already felt it, Beholding’s hungry gaze searing into him as he reads his first proper Statement, marking the Archivist as mine, forever mine. Two marks down, twelve to go. Elias has already begun thinking about how to get those. But first, he must Watch.  
–  
Jonathan Sims does not know where he is. He does not know what is happening to him, only that he is in more pain than he has ever felt in his life. He feels his skin being torn open by cruel stone fingers, and as his insides are ripped out and discarded, he lets out a scream that no-one can hear but everything can See, as the Eye watches him and sees him and knows him like nothing else can. The only thing he can see is darkness and the rock against his face as the material around him moves impossibly, but somehow he does not feel claustrophobic. (Of course, it would not do well to have the Archivist being made the Archive while fearing a Fear that is not his own, so the Buried is not the one that presses against him now.) He cries out and yells and desperately tries to escape, but there is nothing his weak, pathetic, human body can do against so much powerful stone. He begs the uncaring, inhuman Institute to stop, please make it all stop, but in wordless response it rips out his heart.

He doesn’t lose consciousness. No, that would be a mercy the Eye cannot give him now, for if the Archivist does not witness his own making then he would surely die. Instead he can only See his own suffering through eyes soaked red in his own blood. Even as he Watches it, though, somehow doesn’t feel real. He feels disconnected from his own mangled body. Even the pain does not feel real, extreme as it is. It can’t be real, because he can’t possibly still be alive with most of his internal organs and flesh missing, even if the Institute had been as careful as it possibly could have been. He shouldn’t even be awake. Even his screams can’t be real, as his lungs had been cut out some time ago. This isn’t real. He fills his head with a hundred rationalisations, thoughts of sickness and drugs and hallucinations. 

Reaching back through the past years, he remembers denying the existence of the supernatural at every possible moment, as he became so scared of what might be out there that he decided it was safer to lock it all away under a chain of weak ignorance. But ignorance won’t save anyone, and all that denial could never hope to stop the things that he always knew were out there. He tears apart every single one of his rationalisations, because he Knows without a doubt that this is terribly, horribly real. 

He Knows, and that is enough for the Institute.

It reaches out, and with its stony claws reaches into the Archives and pulls. It takes and takes and takes everything that the Archives is, every creaky floorboard, every chipped, wooden wall, every crumpled paper file, but the Institute doesn’t take just the physicality. It also takes every person who has passed under the Watcher’s roof, every sentence spoken, every movement made, and every single Statement ever given. It takes all this and more, and it carefully slides it inside the body of Jonathan Sims. Jon’s body is so painfully empty now, all insides removed, leaving only a layer of flesh near the surface. The Institute does want him to feel normal when he is touched; after all, he’s not a Stranger. The wood and paper fit so well in Jon’s scrawny body, the pieces slotting together perfectly. It is a much quicker process than Jon’s emptying, and afterwards the Institute seals him up carefully and finally lets him escape.  
–  
Jonathan Sims stumbles back out of the wall and immediately collapses onto the floor, waves of pain rolling through and out of him. Outwardly, there is no signs of anything being wrong, as the Institute had completely healed his surface, but that doesn't mean his body does not feel like it had been shoved through a paper shredder and then ran over by a steamroller. If he had been in any state to move, he might have looked back at the wall and seen that it was once again wood. Instead, he is finally allowed to slip into a thankfully dreamless slumber.

The Archive does not fall asleep. Instead, it looks through itself, checking that nothing had been disturbed in the Archives while it had been… indisposed. It feels Jon’s fragile, inhuman body pressing against its floor, and in turn feels the floor pressing against Jon’s body, in which it now resides. It had never had a consciousness before, not like the Institute had, and much less a proper human-shaped body in which to think and feel and Know. All in all, the whole experience is wonderfully exciting, but so is anything the Archive had yet to experience and file away. And now that it could wander the whole wide world, there was so many things to see that it had only ever Known through one of the Statements, seen through the cold, harsh lens of fear.

Unfortunately, Jonathan Sims cannot be allowed to know his new status as inhuman. While it perhaps goes against his nature as a creature of the Eye, the Archive has been told by the Institute that it could derail too many things in the grand plan if Jon knows too much too soon. The Institute also flat out refused to tell the Archive what the grand plan exactly entailed, but that was nothing new. After all, it was a lot easier to manipulate someone if you know more than them. God, sometimes the Archive could swear than the Institute was secretly of the Web. 

Perhaps if the Archive could take control of Jonathan’s body, things would be different, but while Jon’s body is very much not human, his mind still mostly is, albeit with a strange drive to watch and learn and know. And since his mind is still not truly the Beholding’s, then neither is his body. So, for now, the Archive is merely a passenger, watching and waiting until he can seize control. But that is not so bad. There are, after all, a lot of things to watch.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Jon is properly aware of is the floor pressing against his body, causing panic to shoot through his mind for reasons he cannot place. Hastily trying to sit up, a wave of dizziness comes over him and he collapses back onto the cold floor, his whole body aching. Confusion swirls hazily across his mind as he scrabbles for memories of why, where, what. He wracks his brain and reaches out to all the furthest corners of his mind, just managing to brush the tip of a memory, something that vaguely resembles claws of shifting stone-

He had been walking to his desk when he’d fallen rather badly, hitting his head on the sharp corner. Yes, that’s definitely what had happened. He had tripped on a file lying on the floor, and bumped his head. He should probably make sure he doesn’t have concussion, or something.

The second thing Jon is aware of is a voice. ‘Jon? Jon are you okay?’ 

He tilts his spinning head upwards, and his blurry gaze slowly refines into the image of a familiar face. ‘I am fine, Martin.’ he says, trying to get up. However, his arms still feel weak and he falls back to the ground.

‘Are you sure about that, Jon?’ Martin asked, voice tinged with worry. ‘Why are you on the floor?’

Jon sighs in annoyance and tries to get up again, managing it this time. ‘I’m pretty sure I know how well my own body is doing, Martin. As for your second question, the last thing I remember is falling and hitting my head on my desk. I must’ve blacked out.’ He stumbles, and grabs onto his desk for support.

Martin places the tea that he was no doubt bringing to Jon down. ‘Shouldn’t you go to the hospital, then?’

Jon shakes his head. ‘No, I can’t. I’ve got too much work to do. I’ll be fine anyway; I’m hardly going to die from a bump on the head. If I’m going to make the Archives in any way organised, I can’t afford to waste time on insignificant things.’

‘I’d hardly think your own health is insignificant- ‘

Martin would probably say more, but right at that moment Jon’s legs buckle and he collapses back onto the floor. A fresh wave of pain rolls down his body. Moving quickly towards him, Martin helps him back onto his feet ignoring protests of I’m fine, I’m fine.

‘Jon, you really should go to the hospital.’

‘Martin, I’m fine. I don’t need to bother them about me- ‘

‘Jon, please- ‘

‘Martin!’ Jon snaps, glaring at him, and for a moment Martin flinches because Jon’s eyes seem so much more than they should be and- ‘I don’t appreciate you telling me what I should do.’ Jon straightens his crooked collar. ‘I will be fine. I need to do my work.’

Martin frowns. ‘Please listen to me, Jon. You can hardly do your work if you keep collapsing.’

‘I don’t need to go to the hospital, Martin, now would you please leave me be?’

‘Jon, if you collapse again and seriously hurt yourself, you’ll have to go to hospital and then you will definitely not be able to do your work!’

Jon huffs and rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘Okay, fine, I suppose you have a point, though I don’t like your attitude much. I am your boss, Martin, and I’d like you to remember that.’

‘Right, I’ll, uh, call you a cab then?’

‘I can call myself a cab, Martin, I’m not so weak I can’t use my phone.’

Jon trudges out of the archives, waving off Sasha and Tim before slamming the door behind him. Martin, still in his office, hesitates a moment before leaving. Picking up the tea that Jon will not be drinking now, he frowns. Something is bothering him, but he can’t figure out what. He shakes his head. It’s probably nothing. He should go tell his fellow Assistants about Jon.

Martin forgets about it, mostly. Only later, much later, when he is about to fall asleep does it hit him: the position Jon was lying in. He was near the wall. Not next to his desk, where he should have been if he had fallen and smacked his head on it, not even facing it. Jon had been seemingly still half-asleep when Martin found him, so he almost definitely had not moved from his original position. Had Jon instead just fallen asleep on the floor? Why would he feel the need to lie to Martin about it? And he almost definitely hadn’t been lying about being injured; Martin had seen Jon collapse, so what on earth was going on here?

Martin decides to ask him about it the next morning. However, his mind is already foggy with sleep, and he will not remember his questions in the morning. Besides, it’s probably nothing anyway.  
–  
If the Archive had any control over Jonathan Sim’s body, it would have scowled. It wishes it had at least some control, so it could nudge Jon’s head at least a bit towards the window of the cab. Instead, Jon is staring at the ceiling of the car, thinking about all the work he should be doing, annoyance swirling around his brain, making it quite difficult for the Archive to focus. Can he not just turn his head a couple degrees? Doesn’t he know how many the wonderfully new things there is out there for the Archive to See? God knows Jon is such a workaholic that he rarely leaves the Institute, so there won’t be many chances for the Archive to file away all the amazing things there are, out on the streets of London. 

And as well as that, Jon almost remembered his becoming. The Archive had thought it had hidden it well, but apparently not. Stupid, stupid, it berates itself, as it retreats back into its own mind. It should have known an Archivist’s curiosity would be enough to find any knowledge hidden away in their own damn brain. The Archive was lucky plastering it over with someone else’s memory had worked, crudely done as it was. Michael Shelley (poor, doomed Michael) had been bringing tea to Gertrude Robinson when he tripped and fell. Gotten a rather nasty concussion as well, if the Archive was remembering things right, which of course it was. It was good as well that it had been able to do it in time: if Jon had remembered long enough to tell that Assistant, things could have become very awkward indeed. 

With a start, the Archive realises Jonathan Sims is opening the front door to his flat, and looks with greedy Eyes to see exactly what sort of place its host lives. The flat isn’t much, but the Archive has never been inside a living space before, and finds the cramped and cluttered rooms fascinating. Jon does not spend a lot of time here, so best to drink it all in while the Archive can.

Jon really doesn’t know what to do with himself in the time outside of work. He tries cleaning, but all the moving around quickly makes him dizzy. He flicks through Netflix for quite some time before selecting some nature documentary which he manages to get twenty minutes through before slipping into a dreamless sleep.

At least, when Jon wakes some hours later, he will believe it was dreamless. He will not remember, or instead he will maybe remember a lie.

In truth, he dreams of the Archives. He dreams of everything it is and everything he is. His Assistants are there, though they do not pay him any attention as he drifts among the cabinets storing the Statements. He does not look into them, for he Knows their contents completely. Instead, he walks back to his office, where he is finally allowed to remember that strange hole and the torture it had inflicted on him, shivering with delight as awful knowledge floods into his brain. 

The walls are still wooden in the dream, but the hole remains. This time, it is fully his own decision, without any manipulation, that means he walks in, shedding his surface and allowing his truer insides to melt back into the place where they had come from. He is faintly aware of his own fear, crying out at the back of his mind, but that emotion pales in comparison to the ecstasy he feels at being where he Knows he is meant to be, at being the creature he is meant to be.

In the dream he lets his consciousness flow through his Archives, and with gentle wooden hands reaches out to his Assistants and drags them in. Like the Institute did to him not even 24 hours ago, he pulls them apart, but he does not let them feel the horrible pain he was put through. He takes their empty bodies and fills them with himself, making them things of paper and wood like he is, leaving just enough space for a remnant of what they had been.

They are his Assistants, now and forever.

He is the Archive.

He is whole.

**Author's Note:**

> This is like my first fanfiction I've written! Like, ever! Hooray for me I guess. (Also sorry you think there are some tags missing; I wasn't sure what to add.)


End file.
